I just had to laugh (pt2)

(cont’d)

Col proceeded to watch with rapt attention, telling me when I needed to put in more coins, and when I needed to follow the arrows (the game indicates the general flow of action, however its up to the player to follow it). Occasionally, when the action got too dull, Col would crowd up against the stranger behind me and comment on the giant lion he was fighting on his video game.

I was doing fairly well, having raised my character to level 15, and reached the Boss on only 2 or 3 dollars. However, the boss being what he is, beating him is actually very expensive.

Col stepped up beside me again, spoke in awe of the giant toxic slime slinging gouts of acid upon me, then proceeded to warn me to “shoot it! shoot it!” For my part, I was having trouble feeding enough coins into the game to keep going for any length of time.

It is best if you can buy health while you play as it preserves continuity. However, just to give my firing finger a break, I let my character lapse into limbo while I fished another 50-cents from my pocket. I was unwrapping the coins now from the last part of the roll, having spent nearly $3 on the boss alone. But, I knew it was just a matter of moments before it actually died, and I was pleased to make the continued investment.

While I fished for quarters, then loaded them into the slot, a countdown timer was running, and was getting close to zero. Col, caught up in the tension of seeing the Boss die thought he’d help by pressing my “START” button for me, activating my credit.

However, being a 6-year old geek-genius, he didn’t quite grasp that the start buttons, in fact all the game’s controls, were color coded to each player. I was blue. Col pressed yellow START.

“Noooooooo!” I said, trying not to yell or sound angry. My character died, permanently for this storyline, and a yellow character waited for a name and password to be entered.

Calmly, but with authority, I said “You pressed the wrong button! My character has died, and you started up a new one. Well, move over here and play it, since you started it.” Responding to both my command tone and the possibility of helping to kill the boss, he quickly moved his carton to my other side, and I got him past the passwords. Then, I fed in more quarters, and opened a first level warrior for myself.

Together we beat the boss, and started the “Mountain” storyline. In a calmer voice, while we waited for the opening animation to play out, I asked him, “By pressing the wrong button, I lost all the time I had spent playing. Do you realize that?”. Col nodded. “Okay. Don’t ever press buttons for someone else unless they specifically ask you to, alright?” He nodded again. “Alright. Thats all, I’m not otherwise upset or anything.” and then I tried very hard not to be.

When he quickly ran out of health for the yellow warrior he had created, it died and he left. He came back a few moments later crowing “I got some QUARTERS!!”. I let my 1st level fighter die, and we waited for the game to cycle itself out completely so we could start fresh. I entered my name and password, and restored my 15th level fighter, and started again on the Toxic Sky level.

He put his money in, and I learned his name as I entered it for him on the console. His password is 1-2-3. He wanted the jester character, so I helped him select it, then together we started conquering this scene.

In the first few moments of the game, I took a very selfish position of rushing around and collecting all the food and keys. I figured, he really doesn’t know how to play, and can’t possibly complete the level on the $1 of coins he brought – so why should I let him waste the resources?

Then I took a moment, and stepped back in my mind. I saw a young child taking a risk with a new friend. We had a bond now, because of his mistake. He trusted me to take care of him without hurting him or being mean to him.

Then I remembered 15 years ago, when the original “Gauntlet” game came out. Me and three friend from our church group would pool all our money in a big heap on the console, and all of us would look out for each other throughout the game.

I opened a chest with a key and found food. “Here, come get this apple.” I said. When the fray got really rough, I told him “Stay behind me, let me take the brunt. You shoot the guys at the rear.”

And when the last of his health ran out, from the last of his quarters, and he asked “am I dead?” – I gave him my last two quarters.

We managed to struggle out another 5 minutes, with careful use of food and my body as a shield. We both expired within 10 seconds of each other, my warrior having just a slight edge on health. When the game had finished cycling us out, he bounced off his carton, and said excitedly “I’m gonna get more QUARTERS!” (his dad was obviously the cashier…) and he disappeared around the corner.

Me? I strolled outside to my truck. It was almost 10:30, and as I drove to Barnes & Noble where I could write a check for a sandwhich, I just had to laugh.